


Blind Inception

by Celeste_19



Series: Lyrics Series [1]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Blood, Hurt Stiles, M/M, Mansion by NF, Memories, Mind Games, Panic Attacks, Post-Nogitsune, Post-Nogitsune Stiles Stilinski, Protective Derek, Psychological Trauma, Song Lyrics, Songfic, Torture
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-08-11
Updated: 2018-09-01
Packaged: 2019-06-25 19:05:27
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 5
Words: 5,666
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15647052
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Celeste_19/pseuds/Celeste_19
Summary: -Insidious is blind inception; What’s reality with all these questions?-The Nogitsune was defeated, and everyone was slowly healing from the damage. No one needed more healing than Stiles though, the one who fought the onslaught of demons within his mind and came out in one piece (or so everyone thought). This boy was hiding much more than anyone could have ever imagined beneath his seemingly transparent persona, and no one could have ever expected the day when Stiles didn't wake up.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Based off the song "Mansion" by NF. (great song, y'all need to listen to it!)

“Hey kid, time to get up,” John yelled as he passed his sons room on the way to the stairs. When he didn’t get the signature groan or curse as a response, he stepped back to the cracked open door, knocking lightly.

“Stiles, time to get up. It’s nearly noon and I’m heading to work,” he said a little clearer, pushing the cracked door slowly open. Stiles was dead asleep on his bed, random books and papers strewn around all over his covers and floor. John shook his head, a smirk on his face, stepping over the various mythological readings and text to get to his exhausted son. 

He tried shaking Stiles lightly, worry starting to etch its way across his face when not so much as a noise escaped the boy. “Stiles?” John spoke in alarm, crouching down next to the bed and feeling for a pulse. It was extremely slow, but still steady. He also noticed that his son was unnaturally cold; actually, he was freezing, and his eyes refused to open. Something was very wrong.

John immediately pulled out his phone to dial 911, yet froze when he saw his newly made contacts. Not much time had passed since his son and his friends had enlightened him on the world of the supernatural, and since then he had forced many of them to talk with him about every detail. This even included Derek, much to both of their disdain. His finger hovered over the name before it began ringing.

“Mr. Stilinski?” Derek’s rough tone cut through the line. It was very unlike him to call, and that could easily be known by the surprised tone Derek held.

“Derek something is wrong with Stiles, I didn’t know who to call, but you need to get over here now.” The call ended abruptly and all John could do was sit on the bed next to his unconscious son, ensuring that he was still breathing, even if it seemed labored.

Not more than five minutes pass by before a black vehicle parked in front of his house and the window to Stiles’ room was yanked open. John didn’t even want to question how Derek knew the window would be open, or how he even got on the roof for that matter. That was a discussion for another time; he had more pressing matters to worry about at the moment.

“No matter what I do, he won’t wake up,” John began explaining as Derek looked over him, noticing the shallow breathing and slow pulse. He couldn’t feel any supernatural force affecting Stiles, but something still felt off. And besides, he wanted to be extra careful since the whole nogitsune attack was not more than a few weeks ago. Everyone was still healing from that, and Stiles was definitely no exception. “I’m going to call Deaton, we should probably bring him to my loft. It’s safer and Deaton could get there faster,” Derek spoke as he took out his phone. John nodded, pacing anxiously around the messy room.

“Derek is everything alright?”

“I need you to meet me at my loft as soon as possible. Stiles is unconscious and I’m bringing him there.” Derek replied quickly, his eyes trained on the young boy. Looking closer, he could tell that Stiles’ face was slightly scrunched up in what looked to be pain. 

“Okay, but have you thought that maybe this isn’t something supernatural related? Perhaps it’s a medical emergency and instead of calling me you should have called Melissa?” Deaton replied calmly, not seeming alarmed. Derek sighed in annoyance, “Something isn’t right. Be there in ten minutes,” was all he could say through gritted teeth, ending the call immediately.

“I’ll drive him,” John began but Derek quickly stopped him. “Mr. Stilinski, I know you’re worried but I can make it much quicker to my loft and you cannot skip out on your job, people could start asking questions. I will keep you updated and tell you the second something comes up, I promise.” Derek picked Stiles up bridal style and turned to look at the boy’s father. He looked like he wanted to argue, but ended up holding his tongue. Over the past few weeks, John had taken a lot of time off trying to help Stiles adjust now that an ancient demon wasn't living in his mind, and unfortunately John knew that any more time off, and his deputies would start thinking Stiles didn't just have a case of pneumonia.

“Fine, but you tell me the very second something happens. I’m trusting you Hale.” Derek nodded strongly, quickly exiting the room with Stiles in his arms. He could still hear John pacing anxiously as Derek set Stiles in the passenger seat of his car and started pulling away. He only hoped that he could keep that trust.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “No, no, you’re gone,” Stiles stuttered, “, we got rid of you, you’re gone!” His voice rose as the strange scraping noises started again, this time only closer. The light seemed to be growing larger every second, like it was being pulled toward Stiles.

_My mind is a home I’m trapped in_

_And it’s lonely inside this mansion_

 

Darkness.

Enveloping darkness was all Stiles could see as he opened his eyes. Frankly, he couldn’t tell if he had even opened his eyes, it seemed to make no difference to his surroundings. ‘Was he kidnapped?’ He tried thinking to the last memory he had, avidly catching up on his lore, then nothing. He must have fallen asleep while reading, which was nothing out of the ordinary.

Since his sight was out of the question, he felt around, only to realize he wasn’t going to get very far in that sense either. The bite of metal chains told him that he was tied down, both arms and legs, to a chair that seemed sticky, as if it was just painted. ‘Yup, definitely kidnapped.’ Stiles thought to himself idly as he tried twisting his arms out of the cold bindings.

The sound of something scraping the ground stopped his movements, Stiles sucking in a breath. It sounded far away, but it was a stark contrast to the nothingness he saw around him. Suddenly, a dull light formed in the distance, so small that Stiles would have missed it if his eyes weren’t peeled open trying to see what had moved. It was dimly lit, and flickering like a horribly lit candle. It did nothing to stop Stiles’ anxiety from worsening as panic began to build inside him, his chest tightening.

_“Everyone has it, but no one can lose it_ ,” a deep growl emitted from the darkness ahead, stopping Stiles’ heart as it cut through the silence. “What?” Stiles couldn’t help but whisper, not believing what he had just heard. Fear gripped him as he pulled harder against the chains that held him down, but they weren’t budging.

“ _Come on Stiles, what is it? Everyone has it, but no one can lose it_ ,” the voice bounced around in a sinister song, making Stiles shiver. “No, no, you’re gone,” Stiles stuttered, “, we got rid of you, you’re gone!” His voice rose as the strange scraping noises started again, this time only closer. The light seemed to be growing larger every second, like it was being pulled towards Stiles.

“ _But I never left Stiles, now don’t you remember this riddle?_ ” the disembodied voice continued, now beginning to sound more angered, and definitely closer. Stiles shook his head, his eyes watching intensely at the light growing larger and wilder as it inched closer and closer to his tethered form. His voice caught in his throat.

“ _Stiles, I’ll only ask one more time now, what is it?_ ” Stiles watched as the light came to a stop a few feet in front of him, too blinding to tell what it was being emitted from. He looked down at the light cast on him.

_“Everyone has it, but no one can lose it,_ ” The voice hissed behind him, the air going cold as Stiles saw the darkness behind him, a creation from the light in front of him. He kept his head down, his breathing labored as he kept his eyes focused on the metal bindings that seemed to never end, the sturdy chair, which he could now see was soaked in blood. But most of all, he kept his eyes focused on the ground, watching his own shadow play on the ground as a result of the light in front of him. He saw the shadow flicker and move as the light danced. It was like a train wreck, he wanted the escape from the dancing darkness, but his eyes wouldn’t allow him the luxury to look away.

“ _Time’s up Stiles,_ ” the dark tone whispered behind him, Stiles feeling the breath tickle his neck. On the ground, his own shadow was accompanied by a second, much darker and much larger, shadow. It seemed to grow, engulfing any brightness the light had to offer. Stiles’ eyes were still fixed down, now memorizing what his bindings looked like. He had to escape, had to get out of this nightmare.

As the light slowly grew more distant, Stiles felt a shuffle behind him, then saw a pair of loosely-bandaged hands come from each side of his face. He had but a second to scream before the hands grabbed harshly at his face, constricting his breathing.

“HELP! NO!” Stiles muffled over and over again through the tightening grasp, but no one was there to save him this time, no one could hear him. He pulled once again on his bound arms, to find them finally loosening, but it was too late. The dim light grew even smaller as oxygen refused to enter Stiles’ lungs, his eyes burning as the shadows crept closer.

Then, all at once, everything was swept back into darkness.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading this new chapter! Suggestions, ideas, room for improvement always welcome! The chapters are going to be getting steadily longer, so sorry if these seem short (setting up the storyline!) Check my profile for updates on any of my stories!


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Derek, we need to think about this, wait for the rest of the pac-,” Boyd began, but the look on Derek’s face told him this was not up for discussion. He had already made his mind up, and no one could possibly convince him any different.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading! :)

The ride was fortunately uneventful, Stiles completely unconscious in the passenger seat of Derek’s car. He didn’t so much as budge or make a sound, even when Derek broke all speed barriers over bumps and through pot holes to get back to his home.

He practically slid into the front of his large dark loft, seeing a few lights already on inside. They all must have heard his frantic exit after John’s phone call. He only hoped they could all keep their cool for at least a few minutes while he figured out what to do.

He was wrong.

Derek walked through the front door, Stiles limp in his arms, and was faced with three pissed off and worried wolves glaring daggers at him. All three pairs of eyes quickly went from scowling at their alpha, down to the defenseless human in his arms; Erica was the first to start talking.

“What the hell is wrong with you Derek? Why didn’t you tell us where you were going? What happened to Stiles?” her voice rose in fury and fear as she followed Derek to the living room, him carefully setting Stiles down on the couch. Boyd and Isaac followed closely behind the fuming Erica, all circling the small couch that held their friend.

“John called, I didn’t have time to think or wait. I have no idea what’s going on with Stiles, but it can’t be good. Deaton’s on his way,” Derek growled out quickly, watching Stiles’ face closely, seeing his eyes move rapidly underneath his eyelids. It was the first movement Derek could see out of Stiles’ motionless form, but it honestly didn’t help his ever-growing fear of whatever what happening in Stiles’ mind.

A car in the distance pulled Derek out of his thoughts, all the wolves perking up and rushing to the front door to see Deaton casually exiting his car, opening the back trunk to grab an array of supplies.

Erica and Boyd ran out to help Deaton bring his supplies in, Isaac returning next to Derek’s side as Derek stayed crouch by the couch, counting the slow inhales Stiles was taking to ensure he was still alive. Other than the almost nonexistent rise and fall of the boy’s chest and the occasional twitch of Stiles’ eyes underneath his lids, you would think he was dead.

“Text Scott and the rest of the pack, tell them to come as soon as they can in the morning. By then we’ll hopefully have answers.” Derek spoke out to Isaac, who nodded and ran upstairs to grab his phone.

“Derek,” Deaton nodded towards the alpha as he strolled through the front door, two wolves hurriedly following behind him carrying backpacks full of different supplies and concoctions. They must be genuinely worried, because Derek had never seen them help the estranged vet in any way, much less volunteering to carry all his things for him.

“Alan,” Derek greeted, his sight finally moving away from the prone body in front of him to the emissary as he finished walking the distance between the front door and the couch. Deaton knelt down next to the alpha, eyes scanning over the teenage boy, hands hovering over him, yet not touching.

“May I see my things?” Deaton looked expectantly up at Erica and Boyd, both still hugging the huge backpacks they helped the vet bring in. Immediately the two brought the bags down to Deaton’s side, helping him to open them up and lay out the various odd supplies and jars of weird liquids and brews.

He started with basic readings, temperature, blood pressure, heart rate. Derek watched closely as Deaton looked disapprovingly at the readings before going to his next set of tests. Isaac had since come back down after mass texting the different members of the pack, who were now all demanding that they come over immediately.

“Scott says he’s already on his way, and I’m sure he’ll pick up the others too,” Isaac told Derek, who only rolled his eyes as he continued to watch the exam. He didn’t really expect the others to wait till the morning, but Derek didn’t want everyone freaking out in his loft. No one needed the added stress, especially when Derek knew from experience that if one person in the pack was anxious, everyone fed off the emotion and it became chaos.

“His pupils are greatly dilated, even with my light. Also, his skin is much paler than normal. He seems to be responding to something we can’t quite see,” Derek looked down at the boy’s face, seeing the extremely large pupils almost completely covering the whiskey-colored irises. He also noticed the light sheen of sweat that had now taken residence across Stiles’ face. His face screamed anxiety, or fear. Derek wasn’t sure which one was worse.

“So, he’s hallucinating?” Erica chimed in from where her and the other wolves were standing behind their alpha, looking to Deaton for answers. They had been impatiently pacing standing behind the vet and their alpha, watching cautiously as Stiles was poked and prodded.

“In a way. He shows many of the symptoms of being in a coma caused by extreme trauma. His eyes, though, are reacting as a person who is in an active fight-or-flight response. I wouldn’t call it hallucinations, but Stiles is definitely stuck within his own mind.” Deaton further explained as he stood up from his place on the ground, turning to the small group behind him.

“So, what do we do? How do we get him out of this coma?” Isaac asked, looking behind Deaton to his friend, still motionless among the anxious people around him. 

“What if we go into his mind and lead him out?” Derek interrupted Deaton before he was able to start speaking, making eye contact with the emissary.

“I mean, it may be very unstable with whatever is happening within his mind, but it is possible. I would have to do more research to gauge the risks, but I am not sure how much time we have,” Deaton further announced, already retreating within his own mind in thought. 

“How much time? Are you saying we could run out?” Boyd spoke up for the first time that night, making the currently present pack stare at Deaton incredulously. Deaton shook his head, “There is always a possibility that time is restricted; I won’t know until I find out more about his condition, but again that will take time.”

“We don’t have time. I won’t wait until it’s too late when I could have been at least attempting to do something.” Derek immediately growled, angered at even the thought of wasting time sitting around when he could be actively helping. “I’ll go in his mind. I have the best chance of finding him,” Derek instantly continued, knowing as Stiles’ alpha, he could sense the boy better than any other in the pack.

“Derek, we need to think about this, wait for the rest of the pac-,” Boyd began, but the look on Derek’s face told him this was not up for discussion. He had already made his mind up, and no one could possibly convince him any different.

“Sit him up,” Derek commanded those around him as he kneeled on his knees by the couch, coming face to face with the unconscious boy as Deaton slowly lifted Stiles until his back was flush against the cushions of the couch, his legs hanging lifelessly off the front.

“Be careful,” Erica spoke, watching as Derek pulled his hand around Stiles’ neck, sliding his fingers carefully over the soft skin until the tips of Derek’s dull fingers pressed against the back of the boy’s neck. Derek’s eyes slowly bled red, keeping his sight on the lax face in front of him.

The door to the loft slammed open just as the alpha’s claws shot into the delicate skin of the human, Derek pitching forward. He heard the confused and muffled screams of the rest of his pack as his mind faded to black.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks again! Ideas and suggestions always welcome! Also, if you see any inconsistencies or grammar issues, please tell me! I want to fix anything! Check my profile for further updates! Expect chapter updates every few days! This is pretty much the last pre-story chapter before we get to the good stuff (Stiles!), so expect the unexpected!


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> -Derek couldn’t help but smile as the short memory faded from his view, thinking of how happy Stiles looked alongside his mom, how comfortable and innocent he was. Oh, how the times have changed.-

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! FYI: the italicized parts are memories, in case you get confused!

_Yo my mind is a house with walls covered in pain_

_See, my problem is I don’t fix things, I just try to repaint_

He woke up with a gasping breath, Derek shooting up from his sleeping position. Looking around wildly and dazed, Derek noticed he was in a grayed-out living room, sitting on a dusty dark couch in the center. There was an abandoned fireplace, cracked picture frames with blurry pictures set all around, and shuttered down windows on every wall. Everything was smoky and dark; so, this was Stiles’ mind? It didn’t really seem like anyone was home if Derek was being honest with himself.

The size actually reminded him of his own loft, spacious and orderly in certain aspects. Derek slowly stood up, his head still a bit foggy and his muscles cramped from the sudden shift into someone else’s mind. It was definitely something you don’t get used to with time, that was for sure.

Derek looked around the dreary living room before walking to the nearest doorway he could find, deciding it was better to get moving; he had no idea how much time he had or how far away Stiles was.

He walked through a door frame and into a large kitchen, various cookware and appliances hung up and placed on the shelves around the room. Even though the room was as dark and gray as the living area, it gave off a different emotion. As Derek walked slowly through the dusty kitchen, he felt the warmth of family cooking, the smell of baked goods, and heard the soft laughter radiate through the room. He paused for a second when he heard a familiar laughter; it was much younger, but still distinct.

Derek slowly stopped after circling the cracked island in the center of the kitchen, placing his hand against the dark granite. Flashes of memories flowed through his brain smoothly, warm in color as faint music sounded through his ears.

_“Stiles honey can you grab the chocolate chips,” a beautiful melodic voice echoed through the smaller kitchen that looked strangely familiar. A woman was standing with a huge bowl in hand, mixing and whisking all different ingredients like it was the most natural thing._

_A little boy, not older than 5 years old, rushed over to a small stool and jumped up, a huge bag of chocolate chips in hand and a cheesy grin plastered on his face. His skin was dotted with tiny moles and freckles, and if his eyes were any wider, anyone would have thought he was a bubbly cartoon character._

_“Pour them in!” the mother cheered on the young pale boy as he dumped all the chocolate chips in the huge bowl his mother had set down, giggling as his mom stuck some frosting on his small nose._

Derek couldn’t help but smile as the short memory faded from his view, thinking of how happy Stiles looked alongside his mom, how comfortable and innocent he was. Oh, how the times have changed.

He removed his hand from the dark surface of the island, continuing to walk around in the eerily silent mansion.

The first floor really didn’t have much evidence of life, and Derek firmly believed that Stiles had never been down here. Yet, he kept walking around, soaking in the small memories of the past. He passed by a small coat closet, opening it to look inside.

_“My little Mieczyslaw, go grab your jacket. Dad’s waiting outside!” Stiles’ mother spoke softly as she stood by the door, holding it open as a little body raced past her. Stiles slid into the small side closet, clumsily slipping on a thick red jacket around his stick-thin arms before rushing out the door._

_Stiles ran directly into John’s line of fire. Snowballs were rushing at the small boy by the dozen, and the young Stiles somersaulted behind a tree, looking around for the culprit as he tried to hold back giggles._

_It had been the first snowfall in years for Beacon Hills, and Claudia and John were going to make it the best Christmas yet, especially for their little Stiles._

Derek was pulled out of the soft memory once it was finished, Derek cherishing the last moments of watching the snowball fight between father and son. He had remembered that snowfall, all his siblings gathering around a huge bonfire in the preserve, holding candy canes and huge mugs of hot chocolate. It was much more peaceful times.

He rounded the final corner of the downstairs floor, coming face-to-face with a huge wooden staircase. There were deep cracks and scorched corners as the steps reached high to the next floor. There was nothing left for Derek to see downstairs, and he had to find Stiles.

He took one stride onto the first rickety step, gripping onto the splintering banister. The rush of emotions hit Derek as he was pulled into a more intense memory, one a bit different from the others.

_Stiles was sitting on the hard floor of his room, his back pressed harshly against the side of his bed. His breathing was labored, his eyes squeezed tightly shut as panic ripped through him._

Derek could feel the anxiety of the now older boy, his own lungs constricting as he heard the nightmarish thoughts of Stiles.

_“Need to run,”_

_“He’s still here,”_

_“I killed them all,”_

Derek was taken back by the sudden shift in memories, his heart constricting more when he saw what Stiles was talking about.

_Flashbacks to the last month rushed through Stiles’ mind, memories of having no control, of killing Allison, of seeing his friends and the people he had known suffer and die because of him. The Nogitsune had taken everything from him, left him an empty shell when it had left. How was he supposed to help his pack when he couldn’t even get himself to breathe?_

_Stiles gasped more, his throat completely closed now in agony. Finally, he crawled over to his desk, pulling out a dull pair of scissors. He thought back to how some members of his pack controlled their shifts, and this was the last thing he could think of that could maybe help. It was worth the chance._

_He jabbed the tip of the scissors into the side of his thigh, muffling the noises of pain as he attempted to slow his breathing._

_‘Get a hold of yourself,’ he kept repeating in his mind, jabbing the scissors deeper and deeper until they broke skin, warm blood dripping down the side of his thigh. Luckily Stiles wasn’t in jeans; he couldn’t afford to lose another pair to blood stains. Stiles brought his head back to lean against his desk, hissing in pain._

_Finally, he was able to focus more on the pain than the lack of oxygen in his lungs, and his breathing evened out. Tears were tracked down his pale face, his eyes red from lack of sleep and from the struggle of the panic attack._

_Stiles sighed as he let go of the scissors, them sliding to his side on the ground. He looked at the time, then down at his leg. He had enough time._

_He slowly got up, his legs wobbling a bit as he made his way to his closet, pulling out a large first aid kit. Over the years, he learned that being the only human in a pack of wolves (and other), it was best to be prepared. He grabbed some gauze and tape, as well as some eye drops._

_Quickly, Stiles wrapped the gauze and tape around his punctured thigh, slipping on thick jeans over the injury. He walked to the bathroom, splashing water on his face before putting eye drops into his puffy eyes, hoping the redness will go away before the pack meeting._

_He ran back into his room, packing his backpack with research books and cryptic scriptures that the pack wanted him to translate. Stiles grabbed his phone and keys before checking the clock; he was right on time. He rushed out of the room with a faux smile plastered to his face and a bouncy and energetic attitude as he made the drive to Derek’s house._

Derek was literally shoved out of the memory, quickly realizing he was at the top of the stairs now. He almost felt sick at what he just saw, not even realizing what Stiles had been going through nearly minutes before a pack meeting. How had everyone in the pack missed the smell of blood? How had he, an alpha, missed that a part of his pack was in so much pain?

He shook his head, trying to think of how many meetings where they asked so much of Stiles, without ever wondering if he was okay with it all. By the looks of the memory, it didn’t seem like it was the first time this had happened either. Stiles had become a master of hiding everything from a pack of lie-detectors, it was almost comical. It made Derek feel even more queasy.

For the first time since the memory, Derek actually took in his new surroundings. He was on the second floor, the stairs crumbled behind him. They seemed a lot more like they were about to collapse then he last remembered.

In front of him was an exceptionally long and darkly-lit hallway, lined with huge wooden doors. If Derek had to guess, what was behind these doors were not going to be like the faded memories he witnessed downstairs. He guessed it wasn't going to get any better from here.

He could only hope Stiles was okay, and was within one of these nightmarish flashbacks.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! Please comment any suggestions, errors you find, or anything to add that you want to see!


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> -The room seemed darker, and Stiles couldn’t figure out if it was already like that or his spotty vision from lack of oxygen was shadowing everything. It was probably both, if Stiles had to guess.-

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for reading! WARNING: panic attacks, blood

_Broken legs but I chase perfection_

_These walls are my blank expression_

Consciousness came slowly for Stiles as he weakly opened his eyes to the world around him. Looking down, he realized he was still sitting in the bloodied chair, now without the biting metal chains holding his limbs down. The room was now dimly lit, just enough for Stiles to be able to distinguish his surroundings and realize he was sitting in the center of an open and spacious room, nothing else occupying the space.

Looking hazily to his sides, Stiles only saw blank walls, no windows or decorations in sight. He needed to find a way out now, before something new came his way, or something decided to come back for seconds. He resisted the urge to groan as he shakily stood from the metal chair, using the arm rests as a crutch to steady him.

He closed his eyes for a second, attempting to stop the room from spinning and himself from collapsing. Stiles couldn’t even guess how long he’d been trapped in this room; his sore and aching body was telling him weeks, but it may have been merely a few days.

Stiles finally peeled his eyes open as his head cleared a bit more. He stared dumbfounded at the dark, wooden door that now adorned the wall to his side. It was massive and intricately designed with beautiful carvings, with a bright golden door knob. How could he have missed that?

Before he could even rationally think, Stiles pulled his body forward and stumbled toward the door on his weakened legs. The thought of escape and freedom overrode the idea of this being a trap, Stiles continuing to force his unstable legs to keep moving. The distance was fairly far for someone who hasn’t been using their limbs, and it took Stiles a second before he realized something was wrong.

As he rushed closer, the distance growing smaller between Stiles and the door, he realized it wasn’t just his weakened legs that were slowing him down. They were beginning to get heavier and more tense, and Stiles looked down for a second to realize just what was happening. Dread began to bubble inside Stiles’ chest.

His legs, with each step, were beginning to sink into the ground like quicksand. Each movement of Stiles’ legs brought him deeper into the seemingly solid wooden floors. Panic settled in as he kept rushing forward, praying to get to the door before it was too late.

It began to burn in pain, Stiles’ legs slowly being devoured by the floor. He hissed as he continued to crawl his way toward the door, now only a few feet away. Stabbing pain was surrounding Stiles’ legs, the quicksand-like floor now reaching his waist as he attempted to pull himself forward with his hands, panic and anxiety flowing out of him.

His fingertips brushed against the bottom frame of the elaborate wooden door before Stiles has to stop and squeeze his eyes shut in pain, gasping as the quicksand ground began devouring his stomach and torso. The searing pain was too much, and Stiles couldn’t hold back the loud cry in pain.

He forced his eyes open and peered down at his nonexistent body, supposedly trapped in the wooden floorboards. But his body wasn’t sinking into the ground anymore, the floor was suddenly solid with him laying on top. His legs, though, were tightly wrapped in what could only be described as extra-strength barbed wire.

It was better than his prior predicament, yet the steady panic overflowing out of Stiles didn’t help calm the situation. Stiles grasped parts of the barbed wire, attempting to rip it off his bloodied limbs, yet the more he pulled, the tighter the magical metal bindings wrapped around his legs.

The barbed wire punctured the palms of Stiles’ hands and cut through his fingers, tightening to where his legs couldn’t bend without a steady flow of blood accompanying the movement. It was useless to attempt to escape this, Stiles realizing it would only get worse the longer he played with it.

He looked away from his bound legs, now seeing if he could reach the door knob from his location on the ground, remembering the feeling of the wooden frame beneath his fingertips.

What Stiles saw made his stomach drop and his heart stop in its tracks. He slowly brought his hand up to slide against the smooth wall in front of him, no door in sight. His wild eyes rushed to look around the room, now realizing he was in a space with no windows, and now no doors.

He brushed his hands roughly around where the ornate wooden door used to be, hoping to feel a crease or dent or anything that told him there was something more than the smooth blank canvas showing in front of him.

But no, Stiles felt nothing but the white paint that now coated the wall. There was no indication of his way to escape.

His breath grew ragged as his hands went from sliding across the wall, to banging harshly at the surface in hysteria.

The noise of his fists brutally slamming against the walls echoed through the large empty space, making Stiles feel more alone than ever. It was no use, his bruised and bloody hands doing nothing more than dirtying the white wall.

Stiles turned his back to the wall, leaning against it in defeat. He needed to find something that could get him out, but right now was not looking promising. He couldn’t even get up to look for anything that could help him, his legs still tightly bound by the sharp barbed wire.

He leaned his head back onto the wall, closing his eyes as he felt the full panic attack that had been sitting on the sidelines of his mind since he had woken up in the chair. His breathing completely stopped, Stiles not even realizing there was no air entering his lungs until his vision began to blacken.

The room seemed darker, and Stiles couldn’t figure out if it was already like that or his spotty vision from lack of oxygen was shadowing everything. It was probably both, if Stiles had to guess.

Before his mind could pass out and leave him in peace, he heard a shuffle of movement in front of him. He couldn’t see through the darkness anymore, but that didn’t matter as a deep guttural laugh emitted from across the darkening room. It sounded sinister, and Stiles could only guess this wasn’t the end of his torture as the last of his consciousness slipped away from him.

No, this was only the beginning.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading! Comments, concerns, and ideas are always welcome! Hope you enjoy and thank you for your patience! Keep updated by checking my profile!


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